Acts of Saint Andrew
by Sir Thopas
Summary: It is the year 936 and King Fergus has died. Hamish has been crowned King of Alba, but at only seventeen years old he finds himself unready to face the hardships ahead. Elinor, now Queen Mother, must struggle to keep her kingdom together as her nephew, King Athelstan of Wessex, invades Scotland. First in "The Stone of Destiny" series.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note - So, I first started putting Disney films into a historical setting with my _Beauty and the Beast_ fic "A Winter's Tale". While writing that I slowly began to create an alternate universe where Disney characters are actual figures from history. Here, Fergus is a son of Áed mac Cináeda, King of the Picts (d. 878). In this universe, the would-be Constantine II is killed along with his cousin King Donald II while fighting Vikings at Dunnottar in 900. So instead of Constantine becoming king, his younger brother Fergus inherits the throne. Elinor, meanwhile, is a daughter of Alfred the Great (849-899), King of Wessex. Please keep in mind that almost every single person (aside from the _Brave_ characters themselves) were actual people and that many of the events described here really did occur. I've tried to keep this as historically accurate as possible. If I made a mistake somewhere, then by all means let me know.

Also, Scotland was called Alba at this point in time.

**Acts of St. Andrew**

_Chapter 1_

A nervous hush fell upon the room as Hamish was led before the bishop. Queen Elinor could see the ancient lords shooting each other worried glances that spoke of some secret confidence that she had not been privy to. It was enough to set her on edge. Were the nobles merely concerned about the crowning of a new king, or was there a more sinister plot brewing underneath her nose? Her eyes flitted from MacGuffin to Dingwall to Macintosh, trying to discern their intentions. She understood the games that the courtiers amused themselves with, the little power plays they pulled on one another, but to her this was no game. This was her _son_. Her baby.

Their _king_.

She wished Harris and Hubert were here to watch their brother's coronation. Harris, of course, could not abandon his duties at the abbey and Hubert... she hoped he was alright. Lord Dingwall had reported to her that he was too ill to travel, though he had assured her that he was expected to make a full recovery. Elinor had been looking forward to seeing her son again. It had been almost two years since the last time she had laid eyes on Hubert, but she supposed she had no one to blame but herself for that. It was her that had sent him to Lord Dingwall to foster, as part of the marriage contract she had brokered between them. Hubert had not been more than a mere babe when it was decided that he would marry Dingwall's daughter. To get him used to his bride-to-be she had sent Hubert to Dingwall when he was nine years old, to be raised alongside her. At the time she had thought it was a good idea. She, herself, had been sent to France as a child in preparation for her own marriage to the son of Charles III. The marriage, of course, never came to pass but she had enjoyed her time there and thought it would be good for Hubert. She didn't realize how much it would affect her. Her boys were so far away from her, it was like a knife stabbing her in the heart. If she had known she would have never let them go. Thank God Merida had never married, she wouldn't know what to do with herself if her daughter had abandoned her too. Elinor stole a glance at Merida, but she seemed oblivious to the tension in the air. A lock of her hair had escaped from her mourning veil - a shock of red on a snow white background - and Elinor resisted the urge to tuck it back in. Merida was no longer a child for her to coddle.

As if possessed with a will of their own, her hands reached up to push the errant strand of hair back under the veil, ignoring Merida's undignified hisses and squawks as she tried to bat her away.

No one noticed their fussing. All eyes were riveted on the young Hamish as he knelt before the bishop to receive his blessing. It was a solemn ritual, meant to look dignified and regal, but her poor boy just looked so awkward. He was hardly a man - only seventeen - with long, knobby limbs and a boyish face still round with baby fat. She feared he would have a difficult time controlling the clans. Fergus had made it look so easy, but then he had been in his thirties when he was crowned. Not to mention he had already proven himself in battle against the Norse. The clans would have followed him to the ends of the earth. Hamish was young and untested; would the nobles follow obey his command as they had his father's?

Elinor cast her eyes around her as a sudden feeling of helplessness and panic overtook her. She felt like she was setting her son up to be killed. He wasn't ready for this sort of responsibility; crowning Hamish was like sending an invitation to every Norseman to invade. The great kingdom of Alba has but a mere child on the throne, come and take it for it will be easy pickings! Her gaze finally settled on the blue sky peeking through the windows high above them. She could see a flock of blackbirds soaring above. It was the strangest thing. They were flying in an X-pattern, in the shape of St. Andrew's Cross. Elinor could feel her breath catch in her throat. It was a sign, she was sure of it. The birds were showing Elinor her son's destiny as surely as any wisp.

Hamish lowered himself onto the wooden chair, the Stone of Destiny under his seat, as the bishop placed the crown on top of his head. The light streamed in from the high windows, alighting the gold of his crown and the red in his hair, creating a halo of fire. For a moment Hamish looked like the king he could one day be. Then he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, sending Merida into a fit of giggles.

It took all of her willpower not to hide her face in her hand.

* * *

"The king demands more pastries!" Hamish bellowed from his seat at the table. Elinor glanced up from her papers to give the boy a hard, wry look. It was an expression that could quell grown men, but Hamish had long grown used to it and merely chuckled to himself.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" Merida demanded as she stabbed at her dinner with disinterest.

"Forever. I'm king for _life_, sister."

"I guess I'll just have to kill you and take the throne for myself," She mocked in a sing-song voice, waving her knife threateningly at her younger brother.

Hamish started to whine at that, demanding that Elinor do something. She didn't know what he expected her to do; he was the _king_ after all, if he really wanted Merida punished for her remarks he could very well do it without calling for his mother. It was enough to give her a headache. Despite all of Hamish's childish antics since his coronation, it was apparent that he still felt unsure when wearing the crown. Even now he still refused to sit in the king's chair at the end of the table, slinking into his well-worn spot at the king's right-hand instead. To Hamish and Merida, the only man fit to sit in the king's chair was their father. In a way, it pleased her to see how much her children had loved and respected Fergus, but she knew this would only hurt them in the end. If Hamish couldn't step up and be the king he was then someone _would_ kill him and take the kingdom.

Elinor turned her focus back on the stack of documents she held in her hands. They contained a thousand little details concerning the state of Alba's fortifications, their surplus of weapons and food, the troop movements of foreign armies, and all the preparations that needed to be made in case of an attack. She was used to dealing with all the minutia that came with running a kingdom. Her father had insisted on giving her the education of a king, like all of his children, and had understood politics far better than Fergus ever had. But Elinor had never been a warrior, she had never experienced a battle herself. It was Fergus that had defended their kingdom against attack, and Fergus alone who dealt with all aspects of the knights and military. Now that he was dead there was no one left to see to this. Hamish and Merida had about as much practical knowledge on the subject as she did. It was a dangerous position to be in. Alba had already suffered one invasion, she would not allow another.

King Athelstan's invasion had been the blow that had ended her husband's life. Fergus had always been so proud and robust; he had never backed down from a fight and had won every single battle he ever fought in. Then, two years ago, Elinor's nephew King Athelstan of Wessex invaded her beloved Alba. He came with his Welsh army, raiding every village and town they came across, going as far as Dunnottar in the northeast before finally being pushed back. It was not Fergus who finally broke the tide of Welsh aggression, however, but rather a freak storm, a chance of weather. Her husband tried to fight back, but Athelstan trumped him at every turn. Fergus seemed to grow older with every lost battle, his back more bent and his beard more gray. By the end of the war he looked like he was a hundred, instead of a man in in his late sixties. Only God could have spared Alba then. Elinor had spent her nights on her knees, praying to St. Andrew for mercy and then the strangest thing occurred. Just when it looked as though all was lost a sudden storm blew over the horizon. It brought with it cold winds from land of the Norse and Alba was covered in sleet and snow. Summer was just nearing it's end and Athelstan's army was left completely unprepared by the sudden change in weather. They were forced to retreat and Alba was saved, though it had come to late for her Fergus. He grew sicker and frailer until he finally died three months ago.

Elinor shook the old memories from her mind and pulled out a blank piece of vellum. She would not allow Hamish to suffer the same fate. She began to prepare a letter to be sent to Olaf, the Norse King of Dublin and York. Fergus had spent his life fighting the pagan Norsemen, but if there was anyone who would be willing to stand by her side it would be Olaf Guthfrithson. Years before, Athelstan had successfully defeated Olaf's father and drove him out of York and into Ireland. It was only within the past two years that Olaf was able to return and retake York. She knew he would want his revenge. It disgusted her that a Norseman could claim any part of Britannia as part of their kingdom, but if it meant the salvation of Alba and her children she would gladly ally herself with the Viking.

"Are you writing a letter to Hubert?" Merida askedwhen she finally took notice of her mother's writing. "Is he feeling better yet?"

Another pang of worry sliced through her heart, but Elinor didn't let it show on her face. "No, I haven't heard from anything from Hubert yet. I wouldn't worry. If something had happened Lord Dingwall would have notified us at once. I'm merely writing a proposal on the education of our bishops and clerics. Nothing of importance. Now stop playing with your food, you're a grown woman not a child." She knew she should speak to her children about her intentions to create an alliance with King Olaf. To do this behind Hamish's back was tantamount to treason, but she couldn't bring herself to. Merida may have been twenty-five years old, but she was still so much of a child in many ways. And Hamish... Hamish was just seventeen, after all. Could either of them really understand the situation? What she needed to do?

* * *

Elinor collapsed heavily onto her chair and looked up at her advisor's haggard face. Heat was pouring from the fireplace, but she couldn't feel it. Her entire body had grown cold and icy as she desperately thought of some way to escape this situation. She could hear the clanging of swords striking floating through the open window, Merida chastising Hamish with each swing she took on his poor swordsmanship. "Send for the King and the princess. They need to be advised on the situation," she commanded.

The man nodded and bowed. Elinor glanced wildly around the room, trying to find something focus her thoughts on. Her gaze landed on the saltire carved into the mantle. She reached out and ran her fingers along it, tracing out the X etched into the stone. St. Andrew's cross. He would protect them.

"Mum, what's going on?" Merida demanded, striding into the room like a man instead of a princess, her sword still clenched firmly in hand. Hamish followed in behind her, quiet and puzzled.

"My nephew, King Athelstan, has led an army into Galloway," Elinor explained. She was proud of the way her voice never faltered.

For a full minute no one said anything. "What?" Merida breathed. "I- Alright, what do you need us to do? Strathclyde is near Galloway. We can rally Lord Macintosh's forces and hopefully the combination of our army with Macintosh's and Dingwall's we can push back Athelstan, or at least hold him off until MacGuffin can arrive from Moray-"

"You misunderstand the sitatuion," Elinor interrupted quietly. "Athelstan has not invaded Galloway. Lord Dingwall invited him. He has broken away from Alba and joined Wessex against us."

"But what will happen to Hubert?" Hamish asked, anger and fear at war on his face. "He's there at Dingwall's court!"

Elinor could feel her heart breaking at the thought of her boy. "So far nothing has been heard of Hubert. He might have escaped. If not, then the best we could hope is that Athelstan is holding him captive. We might be able to ransom him."

"But more likely he's been killed," Merida hissed.

"That is not true!" Elinor yelled, jumping up to face her daughter. "If Athelstan had killed him he would have made it known. There's still hope."

"This is happening because of me, isn't it?" Elinor turned to look at her son. He was usually so happy and boisterous, but now he just looked defeated and resigned. "Athelstan thinks I'm too weak to defend my kingdom, am I right?"

Elinor swallowed thickly and pulled up a letter bearing the wax seal of King Athelstan. "Actually, I... I have confession to make. After your coronation I made a pact with King Olaf Guthfrithson, that if either of us were attacked by Athelstan we would come to the other's aid. When my nephew heard of this he rallied together Wessex and Northumbria and the Welsh princes together, stating that since the Kingdom of Alba has decided to consort with pagans and idolators it's sovereignty has been forfeit. He most likely would have attacked anyway, but now I've given him a reason to. Please... forgive me, my King."

"Mum..." Her children just looked at her with both equal amounts of horror and pity. Elinor bit her lip to hold back a sob.

Finally, Merida shook her head, sending her red curls flying. "Forget it, it's done now. Mum's right, he probably would have attacked anyway. The truth is, he does think you're weak, Hamish, but we're going to prove to him that's not true." Merida turned to look back at her mother. "What do we need do?"

Elinor nodded, holding back the tears that threaten to rise up. She knew her role to play. She needed to be strong, for both her children and her kingdom. "I think the best course of action is diplomacy. Athelstan has the better army and he outnumbers us. MacGuffin will not be able to amass his warriors and reach us in time to stop Athelstan from breaking our defenses. If we attempt war we are inviting disaster. Let me... Let me try to reason with him. He is still my nephew, our blood bounds us together."

Merida snorted derisively at that. "Do you think that will matter to _him_?! He's already proven that family means nothing when he invaded two years ago! It's always been that way with the Wessex kings- no, don't give me that look! I never met my grandfather. He may have been as good as you say, but I don't know. I do remember your brother, though, my dear Uncle Edward. I remember how he invaded Mercia and deposed my cousin Queen Alfwynn. She's still locked away in that godforsaken tower, you know. If Athelstan cared about family he would have released her; after all, what could she possibly do to him now? But he won't. He wants her to rot."

"I don't know what else you want me to do, Merida. I am not like your father," Elinor explained. "I'm no warrior."

Merida bit her lip and nodded her head again, resigned and angry. "Then I suppose the only thing left to do is meet with King Olaf. You made a deal with him, after all."

"What if he doesn't honor the agreement?" Hamish asked. "I mean, he's just returned to York from exile. He's hardly in a position to help us and we've been no friends of the Norse in the past."

"Then I will _make_ him honor it," Merida growled. "Hamish, send letters to MacGuffin and Macintosh. Let them know of the situation."

Hamish nodded and went off, leaving the pair of them alone. Merida collapsed onto the chair opposite of Elinor with a sigh. Elinor followed suit, though with a bit more grace than her daughter. "You reminded me of Fergus just then," Elinor commented. "All red hair and booming voice, issuing out orders like you were born to it."

Merida cracked a wry smile. "I was born to it. I am you daughter, after all."

Elinor tried to smile back but it quickly slipped from her face. "I've made a mistake. All this time I've been treating you and Hamish like you were still children. I should have consulted the two of you on the situation before contacting Olaf. It's just..."

"You didn't trust us."

Elinor flinched. "Yes, I suppose that's it."

Merida could say nothing to that and Elinor looked down at her lap in shame.

"I thought you and Hamish were too young. That you wouldn't understand the politics behind it, despite knowing so very little on the subject of war myself. If I hadn't made that alliance, Athelstan would have never known how desperate we were. He might have held off on his attack and we could have had time to prepare." Elinor sighed. "Ruling is never easy and I'm not sure if I can do this without Fergus. Sometimes I wish I could just retire to a convent and be done with it all."

Merida threw her mother a look. "Don't say that, Mum. We need you here."

Elinor pierced her with those soft, brown eyes. "Do you really? I don't think that's true anymore. You're not a child, after all. Neither are the triplets, not really. I feel like I'm holding you back."

"Mum-"

"No, let me finish. My time as queen is over. Hamish is now king. If Alba is going to survive our kingdom needs to be able to put its faith and trust in him. He's still young, though, still learning. He needs someone to guide him. You're older than he is, more experienced, a better warrior. You can help him."

"So can you!" Merida protested.

"Merida, I won't be here forever. I'm old and tired and I make mistakes. I should have trusted you, but Merida... you have to trust yourself. I want you to be your brother's general, his advisor, and his right hand. I have faith in you. Merida... your kingdom needs _you_. There will be times when you find yourself facing a problem that has no answer, where you will be trapped in a corner with no way out. There will be times when the right decision will not be the same as the moral decision. But I trust you. Wherever you go, I will follow, and so shall all of Alba."

All the color drained from her daughter's face and for a moment Elinor was afraid she was going to be ill. But Merida merely took a deep breath and steadied herself and slowly the color returned to her cheeks. "What about you?" She asked, her strong voice cracking at the end.

Elinor looked at the saltire again. When she had seen St. Andrew's cross at Hamish's coronation she had assumed that it was a blessing, a sign showing that this was his destiny. Now she thought it might have been meant for her. A symbol of the path she was meant to take. "I would like to start a convent in Dál Riata, in the ruins of Mor'du's castle. With your blessing, of course, and the blessing of my king."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note - Let's talk about primogeniture! For those of you who do not know, primogeniture is a term that refers to when land and inheritance is passed down to the eldest son or, if there are no sons, to the closest male relative. This was law in much of Britain until 1925 when it was overturned. However, before the Norman Conquest (1066), primogeniture was not that widespread. Sometimes the eldest son was favored, sometimes it was the youngest son, and women were not automatically excluded altogether. Occasionally, if there were no sons, then the inheritance would be passed down to the daughter (such as the case with the real Alfwynn). However, this was slowly beginning to change through the 900s as the Early Middle Age came to an end.

Also, at this point in time, "English" and "England" did not exist. Or, at least, the terms did not. The English were a part of a tribe called the Anglo-Saxons ("Angles"), but they were not unified. Like Scotland, England was also divided up into several kingdoms, such as the kingdom of Mercia. If they were from Mercia, then they considered themselves "Mercians", not "English". For clarification, when referring specifically to the English or England as a whole, I will be using the terms "Angles" and "Angleland". When referring generically to anyone from Britain (whether they be Scottish or English) then the term "Briton" is used.

**Acts of St. Andrew**

_Chapter 2_

At the meeting place between the Tame and the Anker rivers, lay the capital of Mercia. For years it had been nothing but a pile of Roman ruins, subject to the mercy of the Norse, when it had been rebuilt by the great Mercian queen Athelflad. It was here that the Queen died and here that her daughter made her last stand.

Queen Alfwynn stood tall as her uncle, King Edward of Wessex, stormed through her castle with his son, Prince Athelstan, by his side. A winter gale chased after him and Alfwynn could not think of a more appropriate herald than the bitter December wind. She could hear the fighting still going on outside; it was no use, however. They had taken the castle, her capital. It was over. Mercia had fallen to Edward's conquest, just the same as Essex and East Anglia. What did Britannia have to fear from the Norse when no kingdom was safe from even their own fellow Britons? She remembered how proud she had once been of her uncle, how he had cut huge swaths of land away from the Norse, reclaiming it for the Angles. But then he had turned on his neighbors, his friends and family, and now here he was, laying waste to his niece's kingdom.

King Edward came to a stop before the eighteen year old queen. He lifted up his arms, gesturing helplessly at his warriors who flooded into her great hall. He looked almost apologetically at her. "Time to give it up, my girl."

"You won't be able to keep it," Alfwynn warned, hissing at the man like an angry cat. "My people would never allow it! I am the rightful queen!"

Edward laughed at that, a little huff of air that spoke of his arrogance and amusement. "Child, you've had that throne for less than six months. What would happen if the Norse attacked? Do you honestly think _you_ could stop them? The Mercians would be grateful to have an experienced ruler such as I to lead them. Besides," he continued. "What makes you think you have any claim to this land?"

Alfwynn sputtered at that. "I am the daughter of King Athelred and Queen Athelflad."

"And I am Athelflad's brother," Edward pointed out. "And the closest living male relative."

"That makes no difference," she seethed. "I am their child. My blood is their blood. You are the interloper; your sex makes no difference here."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," the King conceded. "But, you see, my dear girl, this has to be done. If we are ever to drive the Norse from this island then we must unite the whole of Angleland under one leader. A King of the Angles. No more in-fighting, no more squabbles between small, petty lords."

"And you are just the king?"Alfwynn mocked.

Edward smiled. "Who else could it be? You?" He gestured to his warriors. "My men will escort you back to my castle in Wessex. You have nothing to fear. You will be treated as the princess you are. You will have servants and a generous allowance-"

"But I will be your prisoner."

"Your movements will be... restricted, yes."

"You will not keep Mercia for long," Alfwynn vowed.

Edward stole a glance at his son and laughed. "We'll see."

Eighteen years later and Alfwynn was still locked away in her little tower, deep within Athelstan's fortress. She had spent half her life as a prisoner to the Wessex kings and even now the thought still sent a cold shiver through her. She had lost so much, all those years gone, wasted while she was trapped in her cold, little room. Edward had kept his promise; he had given her everything she had asked for, except for her freedom. Her chamber was filled with beautiful dresses and gold jewelry and expensive books, but she would trade it all for a walk through the courtyard without a guard.

Alfwynn sat before her loom, delicately embroidering the tapestry she had been slaving away before for the past month, the sleeves of her white, loose robe falling down to reveal pale, sun-starved arms. The long, black veil of her nun's habit pulled across the floor with every turn of her head as she leaned in to finish her stitching. She had taken Holy Orders years ago; it had been made clear to her that she would never be allowed to marry and she had already been forced into a life of quiet solitude, so why not make it official? Besides, now that she was a nun it was impossible for her to ever reclaim her throne. As far as Athelstan was concerned, she was harmless and made no attempt to restrict her correspondence any longer. Most of the time, she merely conversed with a few abbesses she had befriended, donating some of her allowance to various charities and monasteries. She might as well do some good while she still could.

In fact, the tapestry she was now working on was to be a gift for the newly founded convent of Dál Riata. Alfwynn was not the helpless, feeble woman her cousin Athelstan mistook her for. She was not deaf to castle gossip and her maids were always happy to share any news .When she heard of Athelstan's campaign into Alba, she knew that he was not content to merely being King of the Angles, as his father had been. Athelstan would not be satisfied until all of Britannia was under his thumb. She had given explicit instructions to her maids to tell her if they heard anything of importance: troop movements, supply caravans, the names of allies.

She would not allow Alba to fall to Wessex as her own beloved Mercia had. She would send her aunt, Queen Elinor, any help she could possibly give. She had rushed to her loom the moment she had heard of Elinor's convent, ripping out the stitches and erasing the idyllic pastoral scene she had been working on. Instead, she wove Biblical scenes into the threads, an appropriate gift for a convent, though if one looked closely they could see that there was something odd about it. On one side was a legion of Babylonian soldiers marching towards Jerusalem. However, the road she had stitched could only be found in Galloway. She was sure that Elinor would be able to recognize the numerous landmarks she had embroidered and understand just where exactly these so-called Babylonian soldiers were marching towards. On the other side, there was the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. At first glance, it was a fairly typical depiction. Red and gold thread illuminated the flames behind the city and angels were trumpeting its destruction high above. The only difference was the figure of Lot. Instead of an old man, he had been replaced by a red-headed youth.

Down towards the bottom, Alfwynn put in the finishing stitches of the last scene. She meant it as a little joke between her and her aunt, a private laugh that they could share even though they had not seen each other in almost two decades. It was the scene of Absalom, with his hair caught in the tree branches, and the swords of David's soldiers stuck through him. Absalom looked suspiciously like her dear Uncle Edward and the soldiers couldn't be anything other than her own Mercian warriors.

She had warned Edward that Mercia would rise up in rebellion. He had laughed, convinced it would never happen. He was so sure they had accepted him as their king. At least, he had thought so until the day her Mercians had killed him.

* * *

Elinor sat huddled in her small chamber within the ruins of Mor'du's castle. All around her she could hear the grunting of the workmen and the chanting of her fellow nuns, praying in their makeshift chapel. It wouldn't be long until the castle was restored to its former glory and into a proper abbey for her and her followers. In the meantime, she had so much work to do. The queen had thrown herself into her religious duties in a desperate attempt to keep her mind occupied. If she didn't she would go mad with fear and worry. A month had passed and still there had been no word of Hubert. She would invade Galloway herself if she thought she had any hope of succeeding; as it was, all she could do was wait for some word from Merida. Elinor shook the dark thoughts from her mind and returned to her work. She sat hunched over her little work table, carefully illuminating the words of St. Andrew onto the thick parchment: _After this Andrew was taken and imprisoned by Egeans, and all came to the prison to be taught. After a few days he was scourged and crucified; he hung for three days, preaching, and expired._

A sudden knock pulled Elinor from her manuscript and she looked up to see a servant standing at her door with a large bundle in her arms. She gestured for the girl to set it on the far table and with heave the servant laid it before her. Elinor could tell from the shape and size that she had been sent a carpet or tapestry of some sort. "Who is this one from?" She asked. They had received many gifts from various noblewomen and bishops over the past few weeks; some donated with only the thought of religious devotion driving them, while others were less altruistic and hoped that they might gain favor with King Hamish by doing so.

"Queen Alfwynn, your Highness."

Elinor knew the expression on her face must have looked positively dumbfounded, though she wasn't sure why she was so shocked. Everyone knew how generous Alfwynn was when it came to charity and religious undertakings; still, she was surprised that Athelstan had allowed it. Then again, why would the great King of Wessex care about a tapestry sent by a middle-aged nun to an old woman?

The queen quickly cut the strings and pulled away the cloth, revealing the tapestry underneath. She laughed out loud when she saw it, that black stone that had weighed so heavily inside of her disappeared at the wonderful little scenes her niece had made. Not only had Alfwynn betrayed the location of Athelstan's army, but she had also given Elinor a bit of hope for there was a picture of her own dear Hubert fleeing Lord Dingwall's castle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Acts of St. Andrew**

_Chapter 3_

_Please God, keep them safe._

It had been weeks since Elinor had heard any news from Merida and Hamish. Hamish had joined Lord Macintosh on the front, but even with their combined forces King Athelstan was pushing them back farther and farther into Strathclyde. Her son could be dead now for all she knew. Merida, at least, she knew was safe for the time being, for she had gone to York to meet with the Norse king. In the last letter she received, her daughter had indicated that the talks were not going well. Although Guthfrithson knew that Athelstan would one day attack, he had not expected it to be so soon and was reluctant to join in the fighting when they were so ill-prepared.

Athelstan's last invasion had devastated them. If the Norse refused to fight, what chance did they have?

Elinor looked up at the heavenly faces of the Virgin and her Son, her lips moving silently as she offered up her plea. Her knuckles had already begun to turn white, her hands clutched fiercely in front of her face, as the fear continued to churn deep inside her. _Please God, keep them safe_. Every night she dreamt of her children lying dead on the battlefield. She could not let that happen. She did not know what she could do, but she knew she could not let that happen.

Elinor gave a jump when she felt a hand lightly touch her shoulder. She looked up to see the kindly face of Wilburh, the Novice Mistress, smiling down at her. "It pleases me to see you so devoted, but even nuns cannot spend every moment in prayer."

The old queen nodded and slowly rose to her feet, feeling her stiff knees scream at her in protest. Taking her by the arm, Wilburh walked with her through the abbey. The old castle had come so far these past few weeks. No longer a ruined fortress, it had been transformed into great monastery. There were still sections that were closed off; the cracked mortar and crumbling stone made it far to dangerous to venture into, but on the whole the ancient castle of Dál Riata had been restored. Walking the halls was almost like stepping through time. Any moment now she was sure she would see Mor'du rounding a corner, flanked by his brothers.

"A new postulant has arrived this morning," Wilburh announced. She flashed Elinor a secret smile as though she knew a particularly funny joke.

"Oh?"

"Yes, a fine young woman from a good family. I think she will make a wonderful addition to our little community. Let me introduce you to her."

Wilburh led Elinor into an antechamber where she saw a pair of teenage girls sitting around a table, chattering and embroidering. Well, one of the girls was embroidering, the other was stabbing at the cloth haphazardly as though she had never held a needle in her life. As Elinor gazed at the gangly, unfeminine creature before her, the first thing she thought was that this girl was the ugliest woman she had ever seen. Then she noticed the broad smile, the mischievous eyes, and the errant lock of bright red hair that had escaped her white veil. Elinor was on her knees in a second, gripping her son's face in tight hands and kissing him all over. She thought she would never see her Hubert again!

"Mum! Mum! It's alright! You can let go now!"

"Oh, my boy," Elinor cried as she reluctantly pulled away, sobbing and laughing all at the same time. "My son is a nun!"

"But at least he's not a bear."

Elinor looked up to see Merida leaning against the stone wall, looking quite pleased with herself. The old queen was up on her feet, pulling her into a crushing hug before her daughter had a chance to escape. She brushed back her daughter's wild mane and smiled down at her girl. "You brought him back to me."

"Actually it was Hamish and Macintosh who found them hiding in the woods just outside of Galloway. I just escorted them here."

"And it was Hamish's idea to dressed me up like this," Hubert muttered, gesturing to his frock and veil. "Dingwall's men were searching for us everywhere and he said the disguise would throw them off. Honestly, I think he just did it to get a good laugh."

"'Us'?" Elinor mused, suddenly remembering the other girl she had seen sitting next to her son.

The young woman stood up and smiled shyly up at her. Although it had been many years since she had last seen the girl, Elinor would recognize her blonde hair and pale, protruding eyes anywhere. It was Donada, Lord Dingwall's daughter and her son's betrothed.

She curtsied, but said nothing, a hot red blush sweeping up her neck and coloring her cheeks. Elinor had never thought very highly of Donada. She might not have been as simple as her brother, but she was nearly as silent. Quiet and easily startled, she was more like a rabbit than a human girl. Hubert, himself, had apparently thought her lacking as a playmate for his letters home had rarely mentioned her, focusing instead on the games he played with her brothers and the lessons Lord Dingwall insisted he learn. But Donada must have had more backbone than either them had ever thought. She had betrayed her father, after all, choosing to follow her future husband in his flight. Elinor smiled at her, "It is an honor to see you again."

She clasped the girl's hand, thankful that she had been there to help.

* * *

Later that evening Elinor listened with a heavy heart to her daughter's account of King Athelstan's march into Strathclyde. He had gained more ground than she had thought and slaughtered so many of Macintosh's men that it was a wonder that Athelstan hadn't yet swept across the whole of Alba. If Guthfrithson and MacGuffin did not join in the battle soon then all would be lost. "What about the Norse king?" Elinor asked. "You told me you had gone to meet with him in York."

Merida gave her a strained smile. "I did. He's agreed to help."

She knew that tone, she had heard it often enough when Merida had been a child. It said, 'I've done something and you're not going to like it.' "But..." Elinor prompted.

Merida flashed her blue eyes up at her, the very picture of innocence. "But what?" She asked.

Elinor sighed. "What was the catch?"

"Oh. That. Don't worry about it." Merida waved her hand like it was nothing. "The point is he's agreed to honor his treaty with you and MacGuffin should be arriving on the front any day now. That'll put us at an advantage."

"Well, that's something I suppose. When will you be riding out?"

"Tomorrow."

"I'll be going with her," Hubert announced.

"You can't be serious!" Elinor looked at her son in amazement.

"What am I suppose to do? Hide behind your skirts? I only came to make sure Donada made it here safely."

"I already have two of my children fighting in this war. I won't risk another."

Hubert looked at her then and for a moment he was no longer a teenage boy, but a man. "I have to help."

"It's..." Elinor stalled, grasping at any excuse that came to her. "It's unwise to put both you and Hamish at risk. Hamish has no children and Harris is unable to inherit the kingdom, which means the crown would fall to _you_ if Hamish is killed, God forbid."

"Then what am I suppose to do then?" Hubert asked. "Take Holy Orders and become a nun for real?"

"We could send you and Donada to France," Elinor offered. "You'd be safe from Dingwall and his men and you might be able to convince the French king to help us. Louis is the son of my sister, Eadgifu, and although he was raised in Athelstan's court, so far he has taken no sides in the conflict. He might still be undecided. You could be our liasion."

Hubert still looked unsure, but with an encouraging nod from Merida, he accepted it with a sigh. "How are we to get there then?" He asked. "Athelstan controls the Channel."

"Don't worry," Merida said with a grin. "I have a plan."


End file.
